


Unparalleled

by horselizard



Series: Unparalleled/Opposites Attract [1]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Gender Roles, Humor, Missing Scene, Pre-Het, Season/Series 02, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything in the female-oriented universe is the <i>exact</i> parallel of the Dwarfers' universe. Rimmer's about to get a very memorable lesson in some of the differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unparalleled

Rimmer huddled up tight and tense in the dark of the bunk, pressing himself so close to the wall it was as though he was trying to pass through it (and, in some places where he wasn’t paying attention, he was). On a ship six miles long, it was inconceivable that she would find him, but he was still too wary to settle down to sleep - not even here, comfortingly familiar as it felt.

Just as he was finally on the point of dropping off, a brief mechanical hum behind him made him jerk back to full consciousness. He felt the simulation of a heart pounding in his chest as he realised it had been the noise of the door opening.

“Arnold? I know you’re in here. I’m _always_ in here.”

Riven with panic, Rimmer tried to flatten himself even closer against the far wall of the lower bunk, desperately hoping he could blend in to his surroundings. She hadn’t turned on the lights yet, so he still had a chance. But even so, being trapped in a dark room with a perverted lunatic whose footsteps made no audible sound was not the most calming of situations.

“Honestly,” the voice continued from near the sink, and Rimmer could almost have sworn she was peering unseeingly into the mirror to adjust her H. “Hiding yourself away in Evan McGruder’s old room. I can read you like a book, Arnold.”

Rimmer cursed himself silently, grimacing in the blackness. He realised now how foolish he had been to make his way to this particular bunkroom, even though he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Unthinkingly, he’d taken the route which would have led on their _Dwarf_ up to Yvonne’s old quarters, somewhere he often ended up hiding away when he got sick of Lister. It held memories - few and brief, but he’d take what he could get - of feeling like he’d actually succeeded at something. But of course, if this felt like a cosy little safehouse to him, it would to her, too...

“You know what it makes me think? It’s almost...”

Suddenly the voice was right by his ear. “...as though you _want_ me to find you.”

Rimmer almost jumped out of his skin, as hands landed blindly on his shoulder and thigh, and started groping determinedly for some part of him that was more interesting. “Lights!” he screamed hysterically, springing bolt upright in the bunk and trying ineffectually to push the hands away.

The lights flicked on, and both Rimmers froze - Arnold sitting in the lower bunk wearing his simulated embroidered pyjamas and an expression of absolute terror, and Arlene kneeling on the floor beside him, her khaki uniform looking a little dishevelled after an evening’s drinking. One hand still rested where it had landed cupping Arnold’s left pec, and she looked a little startled, but her face quickly relaxed into a broad, mischievous, self-satisfied smile.

“I like the way you play this game,” she purred.

“It’s not a game!” Rimmer exclaimed in disbelief. Then he did a double-take at the hand pressed to his chest, and wrenched it away, scandalized. “I told you to leave me alone!”

“Ah, but did you, though?” Arlene replied, raising her eyebrows smugly to highlight her infallible logic.

Rimmer’s shoulders sagged, and he looked at her more closely. From the way she was starting to almost imperceptibly slur her words, he could tell that she’d carried on with the hologrammatic punch after his disappearance. She had now passed straight through the stage where she was utterly convinced of her razor-sharp wit and wildly attractive charisma, and was close to the point where she would start dispensing chummy, ill-advised confidences, just before plummeting irrecoverably into wild mood swings between anger and melancholy. When Rimmer drank, he never quite managed to drink enough to drown that overly self-aware little inner voice that kept a stone-cold-sober running commentary, at all points, on what an unbearable tit he was being. However, he would at least be sufficiently pissed not to _care_ that said inner voice thought he was being a tit. Having all of the usual signs clearly laid out before his only-slightly-tipsy eyes was, therefore, not a pleasant experience.

“Come on now, Arnold,” the other hologram began with a sigh. “I know you want it. I know, because _I_ want it. Is there really any point us beating about the bush?”

“That’s as may be, but some of us have a little thing called self-control, thank you very much!” Rimmer snapped.

“Hah!” she barked into his face. “Self-control? Where is that going to get you, milassie? Don’t tell me you’re saving yourself for the right girl. Because let’s face it, even if she does come along, you’re not - going - to be able - to touch her.”

As she spoke, she trailed a hand slowly along his thigh, looking up at him through her eyelashes in what he guessed was intended to be a portentous manner, but in practice just made her look slightly cross-eyed. But he couldn’t help shivering at the touch.

“But...” he countered weakly, “...you’re me! We can’t, um, we can’t, you know... I mean... who would _do_ such a thing?”

“Hilly would,” she shot back, without hesitation. “And Listy would. Honestly, she and Dave are shameless! I hung around with them for another couple of drinks after you left, but I was starting to feel like a total gooseberry. I am _not_ going back to our bunkroom tonight, I’m telling you that. I’ve no idea what I’d see, but it’d probably give me nightmares for weeks.”

“You mean... Lister’s...” Rimmer’s head span with the thought, and he tried to distract himself from it. Unfortunately, he managed to do this by recalling that there was still a slender-fingered hologrammatic hand resting rather a long way up his inner thigh, which didn’t help matters at all.

“And I heard some very strange noises coming from the maintenance cupboard. Did you _have_ to bring one of your skutters on board?” Arlene muttered.

“Look, I don’t care if even the service droids are getting more hot female-self action than me!” exclaimed Rimmer, who cared very much indeed. “I’m just not _attracted_ to you. I’m sorry. You... your come-ons _really_ leave a lot to be desired, you know.”

Arlene raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re not exactly the most appealing package _I’ve_ ever encountered. But beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Wh- what?” Rimmer spluttered. “What do you mean, beggars can’t be choosers? I thought you fancied me!” He considered this. “You were giving off _all_ the signs.”

“Fancy you?” Arlene scoffed. “With _those_ nostrils?”

Rimmer gawped at her, outraged, then felt exceedingly embarrassed a few seconds later when he realised that his trademark ‘outraged gawp’ also involved extravagantly flaring his nostrils.

“Don’t flatter yourself, squiress. You’re just a great gangling tangle of skin and bone. I like my chicks to have a bit more meat on ‘em,” she grinned conspiratorially. “But! But, but, but. Oh, and speaking of which, that’s a part of the package I _do_ approve of. Oh, and speaking of package, my word but those trousers are tight. Anyway, all that is besides the point _because_ ,” she paused for emphasis, her eyes sparkling in a somewhat deranged fashion, “because, I know what you _want_.”

She had punctuated her last sentence by jabbing her finger in Rimmer’s face, and on the triumphant final word she had overshot slightly and managed to poke him on the nose. He started, and shook himself, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not like the other boys, are you?” she drawled, leaning in close.

Rimmer, who had been subtly withdrawing in disgust, was brought up short. Slowly, suspiciously, he brought his eyes round to meet her darkly earnest gaze.

“You don’t like the good, proper, healthy, _manly_ things you’re supposed to like, do you?” she continued. “Never could quite get the hang of the man’s role, when it comes to sex.”

“How do you-” he began, then realised that the answer was _because I’m you, stupid_. It didn’t matter, because she interrupted him anyway.

“Never could quite get the hang of sex at all, when you get right down to it - could you now, Arnie?” she hissed. “But even then, even when you had to resort to thinking about dirty, unnatural things... even _then_ , you still couldn’t face the thought of doing it like a real man.”

“You mean...” he swallowed. This didn’t count as admitting to his secret, he tried to tell himself, because the person he was admitting it to was _him_ , and therefore she already knew. But it was still mortifyingly difficult to say. “You mean my, ah, our, ah, _predilection_?”

“I mean the taste for bondage-domination-sado-masochism, yes,” she ploughed on, almost managing to carry off, in her drunken overconfidence, the way she said it without ever having heard it spoken.

“But I, er, I mean, that is, if we’re the _same_... then we won’t, um, it wouldn’t be very... enjoyable,” he stuttered, feeling his cheeks starting to flame.

“Well, no, but obviously we could agree some kind of timetable beforehand. Compromise, my little sweetpea! Compromise is the way to do it! I mean, I won’t mind having to...” she tailed off and shuddered... “as long as we stick to an allotted amount of time where I can be the dominant.”

Rimmer blinked. “Where you can what?”

“Be the dominant!” Arlene exclaimed happily. “You know, the sadist! The one in charge! The one who gets to spank and discipline and all that sort of thing! The _man’s_ role!”

“But...” Rimmer’s head was spinning again. “I thought you said you - that is, I - that is, you... couldn’t face taking the man’s role?”

“Well, yes, you little silly,” Arlene smiled indulgently, ruffling his hair in a manner he found extremely irritating, “but I was translating for you. In our universe, the proper way of doing bondage-domination-sado-masochism, the proper, healthy, _natural_ way, is for the man to be in charge, because he’s weak and insecure and has to be allowed some power over us females in the bedroom or he’ll get all testerical.” Warming to her theme, she got to her feet and started pacing around the room. “Just like with normal sex. The man couldn’t possibly cope with going on the bottom, because of course it’s so _horrendously_ uncomfortable being penetrated, you know, just at the start when you have to push through the pain barrier. And he’d never manage it, because obviously he’s not tough and womanly enough to take it.”

“But,” Rimmer tried again, trying to make some sense of his counterpart’s patronising little spiel, “but... _you_ want to be the one in charge, even though you’re supposed to be all tough and... womanly... and enjoy, um, taking the pain.”

Arlene looked at him sharply. “There’s no need to rub it in, milassie, especially not when you’re psychosexually _deficient_ in exactly the same way.”

“But... it’s _not_ in the same way,” Rimmer persisted, screwing up his eyes with the effort of logic.

“What do you mean? Your universe is the same as ours except the gender roles are reversed. So if boys are the dominant gender, surely they make a gentleladylike old show of letting the woman take charge in the bedroom. That is, except for freaks like _you_ , who for some bizarre reason get off on bashing about members of the weaker sex.”

“No, you batty old trollop, that’s _not_ how it works!” Rimmer yelled abruptly, leaping out of the bunk in frustration. He had finally lost all patience with this crazy alternate universe, or at least with his crazy alternate self. “In our universe, the man goes on top, the woman goes on the bottom! The man does the tying up and whipping and commanding and so forth, and the woman does the struggling and the yelping and the obeying and all those other pathetic helpless little things! Men are dominant, women are submissive!  _That’s_ the proper way of doing it!”

Arlene briefly shot him a look of pure disgust, then, as she took in what he was saying, her expression changed. “Really?”

Slightly out of breath, Rimmer replied, “Really.”

“Tch,” she murmured, “well, that’s what you get with a male-dominated universe. No subtlety.”

“So,” he ventured timidly, “you’re a dominant? Really, truly, honestly, instinctively, a dominant? You want to be in charge? You want to bark orders and inflict pain and...” he coughed delicately, “tie... people... up?”

Arlene nodded. “To my shame, yes,” she replied, but she didn’t sound very ashamed. “So does that mean you’re...”

She looked at him quizzically, and he blushed to the tips of his ears. “A submissive, yes.”

She looked him up and down, and he suddenly wished his hologrammatic pyjamas weren’t quite so thin. He felt really rather... vulnerable. He swallowed.

“In that case,” she said, slowly closing the distance between them, “I think perhaps you’d better apologise for calling me a batty old trollop. Because that’s the kind of remark that deserves a _very_ severe punishment.”

“Perhaps,” Rimmer replied, licking his dry lips, “you’d better... punish me anyway. Otherwise, I might forget, and do it again.”

“You still haven’t apologised, you naughty little bitch,” she said deliberately, planting a hand in his curls and anchoring it there firmly.

Rimmer realised this was going to be a long night, and wondered how on earth he was going to meet Lister’s eyes in the morning.


End file.
